The God Sketch
by Persepone
Summary: For my sister, EternalThree. WARNING: Don't read this if you have religion, no sense of humor, or both. Rated T for advanced understanding


Disclaimer: Buddha says ownership is impossible…

**The God Sketches**

One, for lack of a better expression, since time doesn't really apply in such places, afternoon, in the ethereal office of God.

It would have been a gloriously beautiful day, that is, if time had begun. As it were, a golden haze hung about the horizon of a fresh-from-creation earth, throwing the first ever sunshine up through the thin, feathery clouds, sending it bouncing upwards, reflected from one angel's halo to the next, gliding on the tiny dew-drops in the wind, all the way to the huge glass front of the Creator's office.

With a certain sense of reverence, it peeked through the pane, hesitated for a moment, and then curled itself lovingly about His head and fell asleep.

The Creator notices everything, they say, but at this moment, He was busy; He felt like He had been in this office forever – which, of course, since reality is relative in heaven, He had. He heaved a tired sigh which could have had theology-scholars rowing for centuries, had it been recorded. But since man was on the early see-and-bash-with-club-while-grunting-stage (and was still having problems with eye-to-hand-coordination), it went completely unnoticed.

God rested His head in His hand, looking demurely at the blank piece of paper on the desk before Him. He had been creating all "day", filling the new-born world ("Somewhere Down There, Under All This White Fluff," He thought, wondering dimly whether the flowing substance His kingdom was made up of should be given some other, more appropriate name) with vibrating, whirring, and somewhat worrying, life.

He reached out for the pink and green "Best Dad" mug. Empty. Should There Be Coffee? It would be his 60.468. 507th cup that… hmm… "day." He looked at his watch: no numbers, no hands…

- That Late, Eh? Better Be Getting Home…

He curled the annoyingly blank piece of paper, which, by its' very existence, had been nagging Him for more than an hour (measured on our plane of reality), into a ball, and threw it into the dustbin. A few millennia later it would come blazing towards some poor, defenceless planet and completely exterminate an entire, peace-loving civilisation made out of cheese-whiz, thereby making room for the much stronger rule of the small, sugar-coated fruits.

What He thought about that, whether He thought about it at all, no-one will ever know.

- Hi, dad!

Had He not been omniscient, He would have jumped, as a young, gangly man with long hair and a dirty robe, kicked open the smooth, black office-door, which He had spent an entire "week" perfecting. He jumped anyway, just as a show of goodwill. Sunlight was frightened, and ran off to hide in a dark corner.

Panting unnecessarily loud, He reached towards His chest, seizing a handful of the unnaturally white fabric, and leaned back in his huge leather-chair with an air of complete and near-fatal shock.

- What Are You Trying To Do, Give Your Old Man A Heart-Attack, Jesus?

The youth closed the door behind him, saying, without the slightest hint whatsoever of amusement:

- Ha. Ha. Ha. You're killing me.

God gave the impertinent boy an Ominous Look, almost meaning it. Really, perhaps the Holy Ghost was right, and a firm hand was needed when dealing with teenagers… Then again, what would an Intangible know about firmness?

He leaned forward in what He thought of as a business-like manner, leaned His elbows on the designer-desk, and steeped His fingers in front of Him (something which would, much later, become a deadly sin). Cool, He though. Be Cool. They respect Cool. "And Lo, There Was Cool"

Jesus crossed his arms and stared at his father for a moment, one eyebrow raised. So – trying to out-Cool me? Forget it, old man; I put the Cool in Christianity…

He sighed contemptuously, fighting down an inexplicable urge to run off and play video-games, ride cars or date something, and said:

- Mom wants to know when you're coming home. She's been keeping supper warm for an indefinite space of time…

- What? An Hour? A Day? A Month? A Year? A Millennium?! And Why Would Mary Cook; This Is Heaven, Home Of Immortals. We Don't Have To Eat… Do We?

- Whatever…

The son of God rolled his eyes in exasperation, ran a hand through his long, dark-brown hair and turned towards the door. Parents would always be parents, omnipotent or not… Oh, well, at least he wouldn't have to bring them to parent's night at school. He could just imagine it: "Hello, I'm God. So, You're An Atheist, What On Earth Is That?" He swore, when he got home, There Would Be Rock!

- Wait Just A Second, There, Young Man.

Jesus turned slowly, deliberately, to face his father. He was the first teenager ever, and he was determined on setting a high standard. He actually oozed stubborn independence.

- What do you want now?

He asked, making sure to put as much I'm-tired-of-having-to-play-with-you-kid, as he possibly could, into the sentence. God thought about the answer for a while. He looked his son up and down. Several points jumped to mind: "Get A Haircut, You're Going To Have To Take Over This Business Some Day!" "Wash Your Clothes!" or, better yet: "Wear Pants, God-Dammit!" Why didn't he have a normal boy, you know, one of those who had a respectable hairstyle, a respectable over-all style, and kicked a round, inflated object for fun?

Vague shapes of tomorrow's creations floated on the horizon of His infinite consciousness. Because reality is a funny, pliable old thing, they floated on the horizon outside the windows as well, unobserved by all, save a small tribe of primitive islanders, who took to worshipping bananas.

God cleared His voice (something only He could do in upper-case), and finally said:

- Jesus, I've Been Thinking…

- (Didn't think you had it in you…)

- What, What? Well, Son, I, That Is, Me And Mom, Think It Would Be Good For You To Get Down To Earth A Bit…

- (complete and utter silence, suspicious glare, frown)

- I Mean, Like A Trip To The Actual Earth, Eh? Like A Vacation, What?

Probably unconsciously, God picked up His pencil and fiddled with it. Jesus kept his face crushingly calm, though, really, since his father was all-knowing, there should be no reason… He hated paradoxes like that – which was why he had liked his former trip down to earth so much; no annoying complexes about whether you should have to explain the concept of privacy to the Creator of All. Come to think of it, he still hadn't quite forgiven the old sod for calling him home that way – the whole cross-thing was so dreadfully gothic…

He continued his I'm-a-Cool-dude-and-a-bad-ass-and-mom-is-waiting-for-us-stare, just in case the Creator was going for the old firm-hand-approach. Behind His vast desk, God started to sweat. Jesus changed his pose slightly, wondering whether one could actually become too cool… As detached as a flying turtle, he said:

- A vacation? Yeah, sure…

Since he was partly human, Jesus felt a sort of twisted glee at seeing the surprise in his father's face. So, thought you had me figured out? Never, Mwahahahahhaaaa! The old man had gotten himself all winded up for a big discussion, and now he had to let it all seep out slowly, like a balloon going pfrrrrrrtttthh around the room. Since he was partly human, Jesus pitied him a little, too. This was getting embarrassing; Let The Conversation Move On:

- So, what did you have in mind, dad?

Jesus could have kicked himself for asking, for surrendering his much-fought-for-semi-independence so easily. He would be doing the dishes next, and getting his father coffee… Before the old man had time to reply, he said, in his smoothest, Coolest voice, the one he usually saved for scolding apostles:

- I was thinking something cool… and slightly messed up – chicks dig that!

- An Abominable Snowman?

- NO!

The Son heaved a deep sigh, and counted to ten under his breath.

- I want…

He looked down at the seated parent, trying to put the concept into words. After half an hour, or a few centuries, according to whether you are a small, boiled egg or the rubber sheet of possible space and time, silence reigned in the office again. God looked down at the grey surface of his desk, out at the immaterial sunset behind the windows, and up at the keen face of the youth.

- What?!

- Aw, dad!

Jesus was loosing his patience, and decided on the easy way out:

- Just think of all things Cool, and roll them into one being, ok?

He smiled the most encouraging and least sarcastic smile he could manage. Again; why did he have to explain anything to the Creator? God, he was looking forward to getting out of here.

- Yeah, Me Too…

- What?

- What?!

The Creator straightened up, rolled back His sleeves and ran His hands through the beard fastened to His chin by the faith of millions of small, wriggly creatures. He concentrated.

Lightening sparkled in snakes of blue from His finger-tips, as He folded out into infinity, mustering the awesome energy of ages and unborn human minds. Behind Him, the sky grew dark and tempestuous, as dormant nature tried to deal with the sudden change in the laws of physics (which are just guidelines, really).

The desk, the windows, the office and the heavenly country of bliss drifted away, as God begun the task of Instant Creation. The Son closed his eyes against the blinding light and tensed as a boiling lightening of mortal life struck him, encircling him in smoke and flame.

- This Might Sting A Bit…

- What is it?

- Give it some room, people, don't crowd it!

- It looks a bit like you…

- No it doesn't!

- Did anyone see where it came from?

- She says it fell out of the sky…

- Yeah, she would!

He growled, trying to gather his scattered pieces of memory. His head shouted a protest of searing pain, as he tried to get upright. He fell back immediately, wincing. People made twittering sounds, very much like speech, nearby, but he couldn't discern the words.

He seemed to remember a bright light, a sound like "whoosh," and the looming form of someone with a huge beard… And at some point there had definitely been… bright-eyed, white-robed, shining creatures… angels? And there was a strange, heavy feeling around his chest; he missed someone… Ma- Ma- Ma-something…

The voices around him turned into words again.

- Hey, are you ok?

- Who are you?

- What are you?!

He opened one eye, cautiously, in case the world was waiting to jump out and shout "Waaaaah!" and took in the surrounding reality. There was a lot of colour going on. Ok, so earth, somewhere or other… Next question: "Who am I?"

He held his hands before his eyes, turning them slowly, letting the sunlight flow over them like water in a stream. He fisted them and opened them a couple of times. Ok, that much, he could deal with. With a puzzled look, he tried to decide the shape of his body by letting his hands wander from waist to neck. Ok, so he was a small guy… Deep breath… He felt his chin… What?! Quickly on to cheeks and forehead… He opened his eyes wide. WHAT?!

Hands almost trembling, he stretched out towards the top of his head. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt nervous. The words "He wouldn't…" chunked into place in the dark cellar of his consciousness, unheeded by all but a few spiders. His hair felt stiff – spiky. As his hands continued their travel upward, a satisfied smirk crawled across his face. This was more like it.

The words formed in his mouth before he realized it. His voice was satisfyingly dark, and sent an excited chill of expectation down his spine; this was the dawn of Adventure.

- I am Shadow, the Hedgehog!


End file.
